He's Special
by jennytork
Summary: This curse was unique both in its duration and its kindness. Sam finds himself the big brother every weekend for a year. Most times it's okay - until Dean gets sick.


HE'S SPECIAL

"He's special," Sam had gotten in the habit of telling people.

Most of the time, they'd look at the tall man with the innocent eyes and huge smile holding onto his "big" brother's hand and they'd nod in understanding. Most of the time, people were kind to the unusual couple.

Occastionally they'd get some asshole who got his jollies from picking on weaker people. Times like that, they'd just wait till Monday afternoon.

Then Dean would put them to rights really fast.

This curse was unusual both in its duration - it had a set time limit - and its kindness. It hadn't been cast by a witch, but by a little girl who had been playing around with her grandmother's spellbooks.

All she'd wanted was a friend.

It really hadn't been Dean's fault that her neighbour boy had ducked and the bolt had hit Dean instead. But Dean was now locked into the curse for a year's time.

Every Friday at noon, he would become mentally three years old. Every Monday at noon, he would be himself again.

They'd stop for the weekend, no matter where they were, every Friday morning. Sam would live with his "little" brother and take care of him, and every Monday morning he'd bundle the sleepy oversized toddler into the Impala and they'd hit the road.

This particular Wednesday night, Dean had started to droop. Thursday night, he'd apologised to Sam, because he knew Sam would have to deal with "the kid" for the worst of the cold.

By Friday at five, Dean was miserable. He leaked from his nose and coughed all over the place. He kept forgetting to cover his sneezes and he'd wipe his nose - after it dripped into his mouth and made him remember to - with whatever he had on hand.

Sam had his hands full.

He bundled Dean up in two jackets and took him to the drug store. When he had to say, "_No_, Dean," for the fifth time, people started to stare.

"He's special," Sam said with an apologetic smile.

"I thwee!" Dean said proudly, holding up three fingers and punctuating it with a sneeze that had yellow snot dangling from his nose.

Sam made an affectionate but disgusted sound and cleaned him up, curling a hand on the back of his neck after. "C'mon, big boy, let's get some meds."

"Don' wan' beds. Dey yucky!"

"I'll give you orange soda if you take 'em." Seeing that had his attention, Sam smiled. "And chicken nuggets."

"Chicked duggeds?" Dean brightened up, his joy plain to see through his stuffed-up mangled speech.

"After you take the meds."

"Kay!"

As they checked out, the clerk smiled. "They are adorable at that age, aren't they?" she said with an understanding look in her eye. "No matter how long they're that age."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said, turning and using the tissue she'd held out to him on Dean's nose after he'd sneezed again. "They surely are."

In the car, he managed to get Dean to take a full dose of cough and cold medication, then he kept his promise.

Dean munched happily on his chicken nuggets all the way back to the motel, where he knew he'd get to play with the little action figure Sam had paid extra for with the adult-sized meal.

Sam couldn't resist the fond smile. Dean was special like this, that was the truth.

Part of him would be sorry to see this curse run its course.

END

**Authour's Note: This came about as a prompt by an anomymous person on a comment-fic meme on LJ. The kind woman at the checkout stand is based on a real person. As a young child, I had a cousin who, though in her 40s, would always be three years old mentally. Once, my mother and I went shopping with her family and her mother was having a hard time. An older lady behind the counter smiled at my aunt and said the exact same thing about no matter how long they're that age, they're adorable at it. It cheered my aunt up and I have never forgotten her words. My aunt and cousin are both gone now, and I wish she could know what an impact her life had on mine. Rest well, Florine. You were, always, and still are loved. **


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